Nothing Sacred

Yes.

Oh.

She was staring at him. For a second there, David wondered if she’d been able to hear the voice in his head. “What?”

“Just trying to figure you out.”

He chuckled, feeling better. “You might as well give up on that one.” Signaling, he moved onto the freeway back to Shelter Valley. “I’ve been working on it for thirty-eight years and still haven’t managed.”

“I’m serious.” A new note had entered her voice.

One that kept him quiet. And tightened his chest again.

“Until today, all I’ve seen in you is this very gentle man who—while arrogant in his belief that he knows best—is still kind and loving, giving everyone he meets the benefit of the doubt. Finding value in everyone.”

> “Thank you.” He could have done without the arrogant part, but generally he liked her assessment.

“And then today I see a man who…who’s capable of anything, even violence. Who looked at another man with calculation.”

“No mystery there,” he said, maybe a little too quickly. With one hand on the wheel, he reached over to adjust the car’s temperature control. He needed cold air. Lots of it. “You know, ‘when in Rome…”’

It was trite. Clichéd. But clichés were clichés because they were true.

“No.” Martha shook her head. “You acted like a completely different person.”

The conviction in her statement lay heavily upon him. As he’d said, a tiger couldn’t change his stripes. A leopard couldn’t change his spots. And those who’d seen those stripes and spots always had something on you—which meant they also had your loyalty.

“So what I want to know is who’s the imposter? Which one was real?”

Help!

David waited. Nothing. Where was the voice when he needed it?

“You don’t have to answer that.”

David was so busy focusing, searching for guidance, that he didn’t hear at first. She’d continued to speak before he could form a reply. “It’s possible to act like you care when you don’t,” she said. “But you can’t hurt a man if your heart is filled with love.”

Even though her words condemned him, David was proud of her for the insight about love. Martha Moore didn’t know it yet, but she was someone who could change the world. He hoped he was around when that day came.

ELLEN HAD THE DREAM AGAIN.

She is trapped on a winding cement staircase. The cold and dirty cinder blocks scrape her shoulders as she climbs, step after step, around and around, holding on only because she knows that with each step she’ll be closer to the top. And a way out. Even if she has to jump from a window to get down. At least there’d be space. And air. The muscles in her legs are burning, shooting sharp pains down her shins. Still, she keeps climbing. She can’t let go. Can’t give up.

Finally, she can see the end. The top stair is in front of her. Just another four or five steps. Relief is so palpable, it gives her impetus. And robs her of precious strength. She isn’t sure she’ll be able to get up those last couple of steps. Her foot weighs so much she can barely lift it. Crying, dizzy from suffocation and exhaustion, she raises her right foot. But not far enough. Her toe hits cement—the middle of the step. And drops back down.

She tries again. Out of her mind with fatigue now, she tries only because she’s there, standing on the step, and can’t figure out anything else to do. She fails again and lifts her foot a third time.

An indrawn breath gives her the momentum she needs and, miraculously, her foot lands on the step. She has to stop to cry for a moment. To let the relief pass through her so she can find the strength to begin again. One more step to go and then she’ll be safe. Free.

Dripping with sweat, with tears, her skin sandy, she leans her face against the cold rock. Visions start floating through her head. A dog barking. The hot desert. A cactus needle poking her ankle. A doll she had when she was little. Her favorite belt—black with a coral buckle. Strawberry ice cream. A big dark car. Expensive. The smell of leather seats…

Then somehow, confusingly, she finds herself in a tiny enclosed room with no windows. No doors. No way out…

And that was when she woke up every time. Sweating. Gasping for breath. Crying.

“Ellen?” Mom’s voice broke through the fog.

“Yeah?”